The Encourager
by Sentimentalthoughts
Summary: This story is a "companion" piece to One In A Million focusing on Shane and the dinner at Montaldo's.
1. Chapter 1

As did many POstables I found the dinner at Montaldo's in _One In A Million (OIAM)_ heart wrenching. Shane returns to work Monday and makes the best of things. However, her comportment at Dudley's party especially struck me. She orders the cake with no real hope of returning to Montaldo's. Once again she is thinking of Oliver. She wears her hair just as she did the night of their dinner - with the addition of the rose. Once again to reassure and to make amends with Oliver. She finds Oliver with Dale. She does not interrupt or interfere but sits and smiles and makes conversation with others deferring to whomever Oliver may desire. How did she come to this point? What happened after she left the restaurant? In this piece I seek to explore some possible answers. As always Martha Williamson is the real owner and inspiration for this story.

_The Encourager_

She sits across from him, her head slightly tilted as she watches the artistry before her. Her heart is in her misty eyes. She loses herself in the exacting beauty of it all: the music - pleading and affecting; the dance - sensual and elegant. It is _painfully but exquisitely true_. For thirty-six measures the melody and motion cloud her vision and she no longer sees the reality in front of her. She imagines only him - dancing in his arms – being led by his steps – closing with a kiss. It is where her heart has been yearning to go long before this night. The painful honesty of longing brings tears.

The music stops. The dancers freeze. The performance and the night end.

She politely claps her hands. Glancing at her dinner partner she tries to give him a look that reveals nothing. After all she served her heart to him on a platter already.

But he knows. He saw. He fidgets with his flatware. He cannot bear to look into her eyes - eyes that just a moment earlier could not help but allow a tear to escape. He nods for the waiter to bring the check.

Calmly excusing herself, she forces a smile and goes to the ladies' room. Standing in front of the mirror she washes her hands and is taunted by her own words from a conversation in the Mailbox Grille. "… you just end up crying in the ladies' room." She shakes her head. "I will not cry," she tells herself and she does not. She just swallows the lump in her throat.

When she returns to the table the check is paid. "Shall we go?" he asks. "Yes," she answers. He never touched his dessert.

The hostess notified by the waitstaff of their leaving brings her coat from the cloakroom. The restaurant owner helps her put it on and says something about hoping the lovely lady will return. She smiles and nods as if their return is guaranteed all the while feeling sadly certain this will be her last dinner at this romantic establishment. In the middle of this moment she isn't sure that she could possibly muster the courage to try again. She puts her hands in her coat pockets. She does not take his arm. He doesn't offer it anyway. The valet opens her car door making for one less close encounter with him.

Every red light catches them on the way to her house. She thinks that she will never get home. Neither says a word.

Stuck on red once again, Oliver points at the street sign displayed in front of them and breaks the uneasy silence.

"One may wish to take note that we are currently stopped at the intersection of Broad and Cherry Street."

"And?" she replies, not bothering to look.

"It's just that Denver also has a Cherry Lane."

"Fascinating," replies Shane, dripping with sarcasm and irked by the use of "one." "I have gone from just a friend to 'one' now," she thinks to herself. "At least I was Ms. McInerney."

Deducing that more information is needed for her to appreciate the situation the undaunted dinner partner continues. "However, Cherry Lane is located in one of the northern suburbs."

No verbal acknowledgement is made of this wealth of geographic information.

"Hence resulting in different postal codes."

Silence.

"Some careless letter writers miss this distinction resulting in the errant letter arriving in our office."

"I'll keep that in mind," she says with the exact same inflection that she used to remember "no rosehips."

"Given that you are not actually from Denver I thought you may find this helpful." he mutters, looking out the window to his left. She misses his look of nervous desperation.

He goes on and on for the rest of the drive about zip codes and how they were determined in Denver.

"I wish I was in a different zip code right about now," she thinks.

He is operating on automatic and so is she. Speak of nothing personal. Speak of nothing at all. After all - they are - just friends**.**

She rummages in her purse for her house key. She wants it in her hand as soon as the car stops in front of her house. No more delays. With key in hand, she walks up the steps in front of him and unlocks the door.

"Good night, thank you again for – dinner," she courteously says.

He freezes with one foot on the porch and one foot on the top step. He never attempts to go further. "I will see you on Monday," he says with eyes full of hurt and his own disappointment. At this point she isn't fully certain if this is a statement or a question.

"See you Monday," she replies. Maintain some semblance of dignity. After all, you are friends. She slowly closes the door behind her and very quietly locks it back. The clock displays 9:42 p.m. "I had high school dates that lasted longer than this. Uhm, well that's because this wasn't a date. This was an I-don't-know," she says, drawing out the last three words.

She hangs her coat in the small entrance way closet and heads for her bedroom. Sitting at the dressing table she begins to remove her jewelry. The evening is on replay in her mind.

"So what was tonight? Was it a date or just our long-promised dinner?" She asks.

"I don't know. It was supposed to a quiet dinner with good company and good conversation and I did want it to be some place special and I wanted to dance."

The bewilderment she felt in that moment has followed her home and keeps her company now.

"Oh Oliver, what the Sam Hill," she wonders as she removes the 1000 bobby pins it took to hold her hair in place. With that mission accomplished she shakes the curls loose and stands to remove the dress that she thought she looked particularly nice wearing.

"You've got to be kidding me," she says in sheer frustration. The zipper is stuck. Of course it is. It is that sort of evening. Finally, with moves to make a contortionist proud, she feels the zipper give way and she escapes at least what she wore. What she can't escape is the revolving argument in her heart and the lyrics of that last song.

_ If I loved you,_

_ Time and again I would try to say_

_ All I'd want you to know._

_ If I loved you,_

_ Words wouldn't come in an easy way_

_ Round in circles I'd go!_

"We have certainly done our fair share of going around in circles," she states stepping out of the dress.

"I quit. You come after me," she says as she hangs up her dress.

"You ask me to be your dance partner. You dump me." She puts away her shoes.

"I dance with another man. You behave like a jealous schoolboy." She is close to a rant as she slips her stockings and lace garter into her dresser.

"I see someone from my past to help with a case and you get all "old flame" mad at me," she fumes as she grabs her pajamas.

"I had dinner with 2 men – 2 - one was an idiot and one I – I left because I met YOU – and you get all – all…oh, oh, whoa." There she goes – stumbling and fumbling as she tries to put on her lounge pants. She faceplants right on the mattress.

"Oh good grief."

Everything is a struggle tonight. With a wiggle and an exhale, she is finally dressed. Sitting on the edge of the bed her tirade turns to tender mercies – moments of grace – of porch swings and rose cuttings, of fragility and of compassion.

"Your marriage ends. You come to me."

"You need moral support. You call me."

"My home is gone and you redeem it for me."

"You finally ask me to dinner and…..Round and round in circles we go," she whispers.

Her pondering and longing crawl in bed with her.

"Rita says we have chemistry. Do we have chemistry? Or is this just a chemistry experiment gone wrong?"

Tossing back the down comforter and fluffing the pillows she knows even after the disaster that was dinner that this dance of longing cannot be denied. She thinks of times they are alone together in the DLO. He is especially kind or attentive and his gaze lingers on her longer than necessary. Sometimes she feels him looking at her for no reason at all and they share a brief smile. It is those simple undefined times she thinks perhaps, maybe, possibly there is something more between them.

His blue eyes can temporarily cause her to forget why she is searching the internet at all. He helps her with her coat and their eyes meet and she forgets to breathe. He brushes her hand with his hand simply reaching for a letter opener and it is electric. Does the current only run in one direction?

Sometimes when she is alone at night, she thinks of him and wonders if he ever gets lonely. Some ordinary days she dresses for bed and wishes there was some excuse that he would call just to hear his voice once before she goes to sleep. She feels like a silly school girl thinking like this. He never calls. Tonight, she wonders if he is thinking of her now – regretting his actions or his inactions

With Valentine's Day approaching she told herself that long awaited dinner was never happening and she needed to give up, face the music. She tells herself to stop, stop this nonsense of hope.

Stop? Who is she kidding? If she were a moth, he is the flame that she just can't stop hovering around. There is nothing like Valentine's Day to draw a woman closer to the flame.

Valentine's day is the hope of romance - a card or dinner or flowers or some silly stuffed bear. Some guy asks you to the most romantic restaurant in all of Denver and you wear your prettiest dress and he tells you that you are beautiful and kisses you good night preferably under a full moon with absolutely no clouds. A crescent moon will not do. Ah yes. Romance.

Valentine's Day came and it certainly delivered. It delivered disappointment, misunderstanding, and false assumptions; it delivered no card, no flowers, no dinner, not even a silly stuffed bear. Rita and Norman have this beautifully blooming relationship and she has - she has a colleague who calls her – Ms. McInerney.

But that is fine. That is why online shopping and delivery pizza exist. It's all good she tells herself.

But it isn't all good. He is angry and she has no idea why. He basically accuses her of lying and in spite of confessing that she did not have a date she was completely honest about not receiving a Valentine, not even from her mother. He doesn't believe her. She knows it but knows not why.

A providential conversation with Norman reveals the truth and the invitation is found. Norman saw her tears; he saw her heart on her face when she read it. It was a longing so deep that neither pride nor prejudice would hide her pleasure. The long-awaited invitation came in the form of a homemade Valentine complete with a heart on the front. Oliver O'Toole asked her to dinner at the most romantic restaurant in Denver at the most romantic time of year.

She is excited and hopeful. They are going to enjoy a delicious meal, share conversation, and dance. Maybe - just maybe he would kiss her goodnight.

She doesn't buy a new dress there really is no time but she does schedule a manicure, pedicure and hair appointment. And when the doorbell rings she looks beautiful - more beautiful than he has ever seen her. But if he notices she can't tell.

Frankly, the evening could have been declared an unnatural disaster. It might as well have rained. Their not-a-date was waste of a good moon. The dance partner who once dipped her and looked into her eyes as if he could lose himself there became stiff and stumbled with his steps and with his words.

As to conversation which began rather pleasant, even leaning toward intimate, it exploded like a tank of helium scattering her hopes all over the dining room. There she sat - friend zoned. A woman doesn't go to that much trouble getting ready for dinner with - a friend. Perhaps what made her the angriest was that she didn't think he really meant it. She wanted him to stop this merry-go-round. At that moment she wanted to yell, "Oliver O'Toole, What The Sam Hill!"

She tosses and turns in the darkness. Why is it that doubt creeps into one's heart most cleverly at night? Images of a red headed soprano who knew him long before she came into his life tease her as the final verse plays out in her mind. She starts to feel overwhelmed by every tiny moment that in the shadows seem so monstrous.

_ Soon you'd leave me,_

_ Off you would go in the mist of day,_

_ Never, never to know how I loved you_

_ If I love you._

A single tear falls on her pillow case. She turns on her side and surrenders the night to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for reading chapter one of _The Encourager_. Please bear with me as I provide a little background information before you read chapter two. In this chapter I bring back a character I created in the fanfic _Shane: The Greatest of These is Love_. I introduced a character that I named Jewell Moorefield. That story is set during _To The Altar_ which of course takes place long after _OIAM_. However, in that fanfic I mention that one of the times Shane went to Jewell for advice was after the dinner at Montaldo's. _The Encourager_ gives me an excuse to go back and to write about Jewell as well as to explore Shane's feelings and actions in _OIAM_.

Eliza Jewell Moorefield is from Mississippi. She is a retired high school math teacher. She and her husband, William Carver Moorefield, moved to Denver in 1953. A career air force man, Bill was stationed there. They never saw any need to return to Mississippi. Their three children were all born in Denver. Bill was sent to Vietnam in 1968. He was killed the next year.

Jewell's three children are William, Jr., Liz, and Martin.

William Carver Moorefield, Jr. is career air force and father of 4 - William Carver Moorefield, III (killed in Afghanistan), Grant, Daniel, and Shelia

Dr. Eliza (Liz) Moorefield Edwards is a prominent doctor and is married to Harvey Edwards. They have 2 children - James and Maya

Martin Douglas Moorefield has never married and is a lawyer in Chicago

Thank you again for reading.

Chapter Two

Sunday morning arrives in all its glory bringing bright sunlight with it. Nevertheless, the previous night leaves Shane feeling a bit gloomy. She sits at her kitchen table stirring her coffee, biting her lip. The night continues to run through her thoughts like a tragedy on replay. She checks the time. He is probably at church making beautiful music with an auburn-haired cop. She rolls her eyes.

She needs deeper insight. She needs a different perspective. She knows what she is going to do. She is going to make blueberry muffins and take them across the street to Jewell. It is a mix. But maybe if she adds some fresh blueberries she bought for smoothies they won't be too bad. She hasn't taken Jewell any muffins recently. Jewell will be home from church soon and she will just drop by - to take some muffins - just for a quick visit - to her elderly neighbor.

Shane hears the car pull up across the street and she runs to the window. She watches as Jewell slowly goes up the walkway to her home. The petite woman dressed in a crimson wool suit and matching hat is a striking picture against the gray concrete steps leading to the porch of the white frame house. Of course, she is wearing red, it is Valentine's Day weekend.

Shane grabs the plate of muffins securely wrapped with plastic wrap, hurries across the street, and rings the doorbell.

"Hello, hello. Come on in." Shane's dearest mentor in Denver welcomes her into the cozy den of the two-bedroom home.

Shane enters the doorway to a hug and pat on the back.

"Hi, I thought you might be home from church and I wanted to bring these over."

"Thought I might? You didn't even let me change my Sunday clothes."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to interrupt. I'll just leave these and go."

"Nonsense. June Bug, you don't have to pretend with me. Were you waiting for me?" Jewell Moorefield tips her chin down as her eyes go up at Shane. She long ago perfected the don't-lie-to-me look.

Shane nodded looking a bit embarrassed and feeling like a five year old caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"You just sit down. I'm going to change and then we are going to eat lunch together and you are going to tell me why those pretty eyes of yours didn't sleep last night."

"It's that obvious?"

"Um uh."

The elderly woman trades her "Sunday clothes" for her peach chenille robe and slippers.

"Let's go in the kitchen and see what's in this icebox of mine. You do know these new ones don't keep things as cold as my old one did? I told my son I didn't need this new box with all this folderol. He didn't listen."

"Don't you like the ice maker in the door?"

"Yes, I do. But don't tell my son Martin," she whispers as if they weren't the only two people in the house. Shane cannot help but smile at the subterfuge.

Jewell removes a gold Tupperware container of chicken salad, some iceberg lettuce and a small bunch of white seedless grapes from the refrigerator. She hands Shane two salad forks and tells her to set the table. The arthritic fingers shake a bit as she removes two Blue Willow plates from the cabinet. Jewell may have given up her dining room when she downsized but she didn't give up her china. In the center of the small maple drop-leaf table is a ceramic napkin holder shaped like praying hands with the words "Give Thanks" across the base. Once the chicken salad, lettuce, and crackers are plated the two are ready to eat.

Reaching for Shane's hand Jewell prays. "Bless us Oh Lord and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. In Jesus name, Amen."

As the two women eat, they talk about the weather, church, and the latest accomplishments of Jewell's grandchildren.

"They bought Maya a car. I told Eliza that was not what a sixteen-year-old girl should get for her birthday but did they listen to me? No."

"I'm sure Maya is very responsible."

"Did you miss the part about her being sixteen?"

Knowing this was not a point to be debated, Shane quickly changed the subject.

"How is Grant?"

"Wonderful, wonderful. Getting married this spring to the sweetest girl. She is very smart too."

Jewell has five living grandchildren. Her eldest grandchild, William Carver Moorefield, III, was killed in Afghanistan by an IED. She keeps a photograph of him in his uniform in a double hinged frame next to a photo of her husband Bill, also in uniform, on a table in front of the bay window in the den. Any visitor to her home cannot possibly miss it.

After clearing the table, the two women move their conversation to the den.

"I might have noticed you leaving your house with a certain gentleman last night."

"You might have noticed?" Shane quipped with a grin.

"Alright missy, you have me," chuckled Jewell. "Do those weary eyes have anything to do with that handsome gentleman?"

"He did look handsome," said Shane with a smile.

"Yes he did. And yes I may have stood at the window and watched him as he opened your car door and then walk around the car and drive away."

Both women chuckle at Jewell's confession.

"Jewell, it started out well. I thought it did anyway. He took me to Montaldo's."

"Oh, that's nice."

"Have you been there?"

"Martin took me there one year for Mother's Day. I told him it was too extravagant but we had a lovely time. That's a story for another day. Now, you said it began well."

"Yes. He was a little nervous, even a little shy. We ordered. We talked. He even called me Shane."

"He doesn't usually call you Shane?" asked Jewell a bit puzzled.

"No. He calls me Ms. McInerney," chuckled Shane.

"I guess he is a rather reserved, formal gentleman," responded Jewell.

"I would say so. I guess it seems silly but calling me Shane was – special. Then we danced"

"Dancing is good."

"Maybe we should have danced more," said Shane looking down at the floor as if recovering a memory. The smile left her face and light in her eyes dimmed. "Oh Jewell."

Jewell reached across the sofa and patted Shane's knee.

"Our server came and began to say how we couldn't be on our first date - the way we danced together and talked and the champagne. She said this must be our anniversary. I smiled. I kind of liked – that she – thought that we…. I just mean that would seem like - we- belonged - together." Shane said with a trailing voice.

"I thought he would say no actually this was our first date. I mean I knew he would correct her. Instead he said - oh no we were just friends," Shane said lowering her voice and imitating Oliver.

"What did you do?"

"I might have downed a glass of champagne - or two," Shane replied biting her bottom lip.

"Oh no," mumbles Jewell. "And where did the conversation go from there?"

"Oh we covered such lovely romantic topics as allergies and fertilizer," said Shane not sparing the sarcasm. "Apparently I should plant my roses near the final resting place of a dead family pet. If I had one."

"Oh my." Jewell broke into laughter and so did Shane.

"I also may have mentioned that I had been there a couple of times before - with other men," said Shane, looking rather sheepishly at Jewell.

"Oh dear," says Jewell.

Shane nodded. "I don't know why I said it. At first it just slipped out and I tried to minimize it, to dismiss it but then I just wanted to - put the cards on the table. And when I did he looked - I don't know - hurt or disappointed….and he starts to apologize for bringing me to a place so "fraught" with bad memories for our first - and then he stops. First? First What?"

"Finally I asked him if this was a date or just our long promised dinner."

"And what did he say?"

"He said he didn't know," replied Shane in exasperation. "He didn't know."

"Oh my goodness."

Shane nodded and then continued.

"He said he wanted it to be some place special and he wanted to dance. Oh Jewell, he looked hurt and angry. I told him I didn't dance with those other men. I told him I only dance with you."

"Did he accept that?"

"Well he said we could be good together if we practiced. But before anything was really resolved the music started playing and evening ended. It was awful."

"Why do you think he wouldn't call it a date?"

"I don't know. Why make a card with a heart? Why the most romantic restaurant in town? Why Valentine's day? Why not just say, Hey Shane it's an ordinary Monday night let's have dinner at the Mailbox Grille, my treat. I said I would take you to dinner and I never did."

By now the words falling from her lips are accompanied by tears falling from her eyes.

Jewell stands to get the Kleenex box from the table beside her recliner.

"June Bug, did you ever try to pet an injured animal?"

"Jewell, we aren't going to talk about the final resting place of dead pets, are we?" Shane replied wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

"No," laughed Jewell. "But I do have a story."

Ebony hands, hands set off with beautiful red fingernail polish, hands knotted by arthritis and wrinkled by age, hands that provided courage and comfort for decades, clasp the smooth porcelain hand of the hurting young woman sitting beside her.

"When I was a little girl, I had a puppy one time that got hit by a bicycle ridden by my reckless cousin, George. I was so mad at George. George was a pest. It didn't seriously injure my dog but it did hurt his paw. He just lied there whimpering under this big live oak in our front yard. I was going to carry him back to the house. When I reached down to pick him up he snapped at me. That puppy was afraid of being hurt. It was a hot summer day in Mississippi so I took his bowl, filled it with fresh cool water, and brought it to the tree where it was accessible to him. Do you understand?"

"I need to give Oliver a bowl of water?"

Jewell didn't respond. She simply gave Shane her best disapproving momma look.

"I'm sorry."

"Shane, I met him where he was and then I just sat and waited. First he lapped up the water and then he crawled in my lap."

"I need to meet Oliver where he is, be kind and wait?" said Shane blinking away the last tears.

"Last night you had dinner with an injured man. He is tender to the touch. Your words, 'I only dance with you' were life-giving water to a man afraid to drink. Give him time. He will lap up those words. The Bible says "cast your bread upon the water and it will not return void to you." Cast love and patience and mercy and forgiveness. It will come back to you. If you really care about him you will give him second chance."

"But what if he crawls up in someone else's lap?"

"Never, never regret an act of love."

Shane nods in consent.

"I suspect the reason he didn't call it a date was because he was afraid. As long as it was dinner with a friend, he had nothing to lose. To call it a date is to risk - rejection - to risk one's heart. To me that looks like a chance he wants to take - to take with you - but is too afraid to take. Remember, I watched a certain very well-dressed man put you in the car last night. He was smiling. Something tells me he will be back. I prayed for you. I will keep praying."

"You think he will ask me out on a – real date?"

"June Bug, I think he already did. Consider this, think on this - he made a card, made reservations at a special restaurant, and dressed in his finest clothes - all for you, all to spend this holiday with you."

"When you put it that way, it feels better."

"The Bible says _Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. _Perhaps you could do that in this situation too?"

"Now come here. You are plumb worn out." said Jewell as she wraps her older wiser arms around the young woman's weary shoulders. "Do you know what you need?"

"No?"

"You need to get that tin of sugar cookies in the kitchen and bring them in here. We didn't have any dessert."

With a giggle and smile Shane makes her way to kitchen to retrieve dessert.

"Don't forget the milk," calls Jewell.

"Got it."

Shane returned to her house far less burdened. Time with her friend, mentor, and encourager always helped. She pulls out her laptop and opens a special file and begins to type.

_February 17 – Lessons from Jewell_

_Three lessons today_

_1.__Cast your bread upon the water and it will not return void to you._

_2.__Never regret an act of love._

_3.__Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things._

_Oh and the fourth - Never pet an injured animal._

Later that night she dressed for bed and caught herself humming a different tune.

_The water is wide, __I cannot cross over_

_And neither have I the wings to fly_

Once again she crawls into bed and the evening is on replay. The same steps just a different tune.

Her perspective changes. Even during that disastrous dinner there were moments - moments when - he called her Shane, he laughed freely, his eyes met hers and lingered. There were actions that required time and tender thought – a homemade valentine, a special reservation. There were words that cracked open the door of hope - I thought the setting would be more intimate - I wanted it to be someplace special - I wanted to dance - I imagine we could be very good….

There were even oh so brief moments that were physical. These are the moments you notice when your relationship is new and just the thought of his hand touching yours sends chills: helping her out of the car and taking her hand; pulling out her chair at the restaurant and briefly touching her shoulder; dancing and for a few seconds the tension leaving his body only to return far too quickly. These are things you notice when you are longing and hoping and dreaming. These are the things she realized that she almost let disappointment destroy.

Tonight as she drifts to sleep there are no tears. Only the lovely memory of smell of his cologne, the feel of his hand on her waist, the sight of his sparkling blue eyes, and the sound of his voice calling her name and of course music.

_Give us a boat that can carry two__  
__And both shall row...both shall row…._


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story and for your gracious reviews. It means a great deal for me to know what you find funny, meaningful or just entertaining in any manner. The song that I reference toward the end of this chapter is _I Will Not Give Up_ by Jason Mraz. Mraz is a favorite of mine. I know that I am pushing the relationship envelope at the end of this chapter but hey – let's have a little fun while waiting on the next movie. I hope you like this addition to the cannon of songs we associate with SSD.

Chapter Three

"See you Monday." Those were the last words Shane spoke to Oliver as he stood frozen on her front porch step. Monday is here. Driving to work she wonders how he will respond to her after their difficult dinner at Montaldo's.

"Oliver O'Toole, consummate professional, how will you act today?" she ponders the possibilities aloud as she drives to work.

"Naturally he will be professional and reserved as always, naturally. He could double down on being just friends. _Good morning Ms. McInerney, Rita, Norman. Does it not bode well that the four of us are not mere colleagues but also friends? Yes, we are all friends,"_ she says doing her best Oliver impersonation.

"Maybe he **will** ask me to go dancing – sometime next year. Or maybe he will act as if nothing happened at all. Or maybe he will put it all in a letter. Oh well, here goes."

She parks the car and enters the building. She is determined to do her best to _think on whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovey, whatever is admirable. _"Think and act on THESE THINGS," she repeats to herself entering the DLO. Ultimately, she knew that she had two choices: take Jewell's advice and patiently do what is kind and loving and accept the results; or spend the week tossing and turning internally and in bed. She chose to take Jewell's advice. But is doesn't come easy.

This is no ordinary Monday. What transpires is far beyond anything she imagined. The week begins with a case of mail theft! Not only must she face Oliver but also a frantic, love-sick server from Montaldo's, a persistent but somehow lovable jerk from postal security, and a desperately loveless mail carrier turned thief. To add to the complexity, inserted into the day is presence of none other than Dale Travers.

Dale is a special agent with Colorado State Department of Investigations. Dale is perfect. Dale is physically beautiful, poised, and confident. She is virtually lit from within. But that isn't the problem. She is the woman with whom Oliver has a much longer history and for whom he openly admitted once having feelings. She is the one he readily calls by her first name and embraces, literally, every time he sees her. Her most damning quality, she has a thing for Oliver and Shane is just certain of it. As far as Shane knows with Dale there is no "former" anything where Oliver is concerned.

The mere mention of her name gets under Shane's skin and Oliver is more than aware of that. Nevertheless, when push comes to shove, as the old saying goes, Shane puts her feelings and insecurities aside and does what is right and needed – she calls Dale to help with their case. That decision actually garners respect from Oliver. But it also means that Shane sees even more for herself the natural repour between the two.

By the end of the work day, the server is satisfied, the lost mail is rectified, the mail carrier is edified and Dale…Dale is invited to the retirement party. For all Shane knows, Dale may be coming with Oliver.

After everything that transpired on Monday, the four POstables are all exhausted and rather quiet on Tuesday. Oliver spends most of the day out of the DLO in meetings. By Wednesday the four are back to their routines. Still things between these two POstables are a bit awkward at times. One moment he seems to avoid her; the next moment, he js watching her instead of his work. Shane - she stays the course. Be kind. Be thoughtful. Be yourself. Be patient.

Still there are a couple of things from the previous Saturday dinner that hang over her head. These are two matters that she wants to correct. One involves a rose clipping and the other involves dessert.

Shane wasn't fully honest with Oliver that night at Montaldo's concerning the rose clipping he gave her. Both her heart and her pride were hurt by his "just friends" designation and she struck back. No, the rose cutting wasn't flourishing but it wasn't dead either. She had grafted it and kept it in a pot on her tiny glassed in sunporch on the back of her house. She knew it wouldn't survive the winter in Denver outside. Yes, she had truly watered, fertilized, and talked to it after spending hours researching every possible way to care for it. Her plan was to plant it outside in late spring when it was more resilient. When they went to dinner that night there were two tiny buds struggling for survival. When he said "just friends" as far as she was concerned, those two buds died of frost bite on that enclosed and heated porch. However, after her discussion with Jewell she spends the week tending that little plant and doing everything possible to save at least one of the buds.

She also feels badly that he didn't try his dessert. His remarks about a good curd versus meringue come as no surprise to Shane. When she heard the description of the cake, she knew he would like it. She would have actually preferred the chocolate torte but even in the midst of the dysfunctional dinner she thinks of him. The retirement party gives her an excuse to make it happen. It may have been Dud's party but it is Oliver's dessert. She wants to give him another chance to try the cake. She wants to give them another chance.

The day of the retirement party comes. It is Saturday. Shane has plenty of time to get ready. There are household chores to do, online bills to pay. She polishes her own nails and fixes her own hair. She decides to check on that rose bush one more time. She slips on a floral silk robe that she never wears. She wasn't sure why she bought it. She pushes open the door to the porch and there they are – not one but two roses. One bud has just begun to open while the other is in full bloom – lovely, delicate, expectant. Taking the scissors from the drawer, she clips the flower. She closes her eyes to smell its fragrance then gently touches it to her cheek.

"You and I have a party to attend," she says to the bloom, giggling with glee.

She was about to open her car door to leave when she notices the light on in the den across the street. "Jewell," she whispers, as she changes her mind about leaving and instead makes her way to the home of her friend.

"Hello Shane, what a nice surprise. Come in, come in."

"I can't stay. I just wanted to stop by a minute."

"Don't you look lovely."

"Thank you. Am I interrupting?"

"No, I just got home. Maya came by for me in her new car and took me for a ride and for an early dinner. Of course Liz went with us. We had such a good time. I am plumb worn out. She is a very responsible driver. I'm so proud of that girl."

"You have every reason to be," said Shane without a hint of a smile. Shane had neither the time nor the inclination to remind Jewell that she was adamantly opposed to Maya having a car.

"And where are you going all dressed up?" asks Jewell.

"It's a retirement party for a postal carrier. I wanted you to know that I took your advice. I also wanted you to know that he may be bringing a – bringing someone else to the party. Regardless, no regrets," said Shane with a confirming nod of her head.

"Sweet June Bug, courage and kindness look good on you," said Jewell, gently taking Shane's face in her hands.

"Thank you. I just wanted you to – to…," began Shane.

"Pray? I believe that is the best word to complete that sentence. I will be praying."

Shane nodded. The two women embraced. Shane was going to say that she just wanted Jewell to know. However, pray did seem the better choice right now.

"And Shane, when you get home tonight, if you need me, you know I am right here."

Jewell follows Shane out the door and stands on the porch watching her drive away and praying for her as she does. The last time Shane glances in her rearview mirror she can still she her mentor waving – cheering her on.

As Shane enters the Mailbox Grille, it takes only seconds to see that one way or the other Oliver and Dale are already together. There was a time when her instincts would have prompted her to interrupt that conversation, stand between them. But not tonight. Instead she feels strangely peaceful.

"No live oak, an antique sofa will have to do," she thinks to herself. In the moment it does not seem that what she cast would be returning to her. Still she will cling to the other words of wisdom from Jewell – Never regret an act of love. Within minutes Lynn from HR joins her and they chat about everything from the endless training required to work in HR, to the eighteen-month-old toddler Lynn has at home, to the weather – of course the weather. Everybody talks about the weather. Lynn is good company and a good distraction. Shane completely missed the fact that Dale and Oliver are no longer talking or even standing together. She is totally unaware that Rita has not only taken Oliver a piece of cake but also has taken Dale away on punch duty. By this point Joe is keeping Dale occupied. Only Oliver's hand reaching out to take her hand catches her attention.

A conversation that began with a confusing question ended with the declaration that she longed to hear. "And yes, it is a date," said Oliver.

It is amazing how heavy longing can weigh down one's heart. Longing realized is a weight lifted, buoyant. Shane casts mercy, grace, and courage and Oliver receives and returns it. He is still tender to the touch and she recognizes that. But now at least he is taking the proverbial one step forward instead of two steps back.

Dudley has no idea how memorable his party will be for both of them.

They dance twice that evening. The first is brief, initiated by Shane, and turns into a group celebration. It is _all good and getting even better._ Shane watches Joe watching Oliver watch her and then give a knowing look back at her. Rita spends an inordinate amount of time that night befriending Dale. When Oliver is about to sit on the small Victorian sofa to talk to Dale, Rita whisks her away on a tour of the Mailbox Grille complete with a stop by the booth in which the POstables usually sat and a full explanation of the menu. For some odd reason Lester keeps following Norman around trying to discuss sports. By the time Lester compares Sumo wrestling to postal security Norman grabs Rita by the arm and says, "Let's dance." Lester replies, "good idea." Unfortunately for Shane, she is the woman standing closest to him.

"Hellooo there. This is your lucky day. They are playing our song."

"Lester, we don't have a song."

"We do now," he says as he begins something between _The Swim and The Twist, i_f that is humanly possible.

Lester Kimsicle has her cornered to nothing less than The Marvelettes and _Please,_ _Please, Mr. Postman_. This is much worse than dancing the Paso Doble with Ramon.

Oliver has his back turned to her and is talking to Hazel when the fiasco begins. He is in midsentence when Hazel points across the room and declares with a giggle, "Look at that."

Look at that indeed. There is Lester moving in every direction while Shane stands completely still, looking caught between Lester, a group of co-workers, and the bar.

Oliver quickly puts down his glass and in three long strides is across the room.

"Excuse me, but Ms. McInerney's dance card is full," said Oliver, clearing his throat. Plucking her from the chaos, he takes her hand and leads her away from a stunned and stammering Kimsicle.

"Hey, wait a minute Mr. Postman. She's with…" Lester begins.

"Good night Lester," interrupts Shane.

"Thank you," she says, with a laugh and a look of relief.

"The pleasure is all mine," said her smiling dance partner.

Just as the two were about to have fun dancing along with The Marvelettes the song ends and raucous cheers of postal workers break across the Grille. The two laugh and clap along.

Then the tune and the tone change. The juke box drops the pluck of an acoustic guitar. The two hesitate. His smile and his arms tell her that everything is alright. He never says the words, "Let's dance" but she knows. The dulcet tone of a singer begins a rhythm you count in six and feel in two. Their easy sway begins.

_When I look into your eyes__  
__It's like watching the night sky__  
__Or a beautiful sunrise__  
__So much they hold_

The chatter in the room fades. The lights fade. Disastrous dinners fade. She feels the tension in him fade. His blue eyes never leave hers but there are moments that she stills sees fear and caution in them. The music builds. The singer declares his fidelity in a bridge that demands she spin and so does her dance partner. The two command the floor. Turn, turn, close, turn, turn, close.

_I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily__  
__I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make_

The music quietens. Oliver subconsciously draws her hand to rest on his lapel. They have been here before but not like this. She slips her arm a little further around his shoulder. He smiles and she smiles back. She feels his thumb lightly stroke her back. Restraint gives way to desire and she rests her head on his shoulder.

The singer offers his final chorus almost like a lullaby -

_I won't give up on us_

_Even if the skies get rough_

_I'm giving you all my love_

_I'm still looking up_

The music stops. The dancers freeze. The performance and the night end.

Rita and Norman say their goodbyes. No one seems to know when but Dale disappeared sometime earlier in the evening. Joe is taking a very happy, affirmed, and encouraged Dudley home.

Susan, the hostess at the Mailbox Grille, sees that she is leaving and brings her coat to her.

"Allow me," says Oliver, helping her slip her arms into the sleeves. She is glad to have another close encounter with him tonight.

"Thank you," says a beaming Shane McInerney.

"May I - walk you to your car?"

"That would be nice."

It is dark. The air is crisp and a few thin clouds drift past the moon. They cross two streets going to the parking garage prompting Oliver to bring up street names.

"Did you know that Denver has a Pine Street and a Pine Avenue?"

"No, I did not. Are they in different zip codes?" she asks with a smile.

Reaching her car they pause and share one of those undefined lingering looks.

"No, Shane. They are not."

"I'm glad to know that."

"Me too."

"See you on Monday."

"See you Monday."

Riding home she finds another tune and another set of lyrics stuck in her head.

_It's all good and when we get together__  
__why not make it last forever__  
__when you got what matters__  
__it's all good and gettin even better_


End file.
